Page 22 of The Wildest One

The desire burning, the sparks surging through me.

And it only grew when he tugged on my nipple, the pressure hard enough to make me scream, “Yes!”

He lengthened each plunge, letting me go as far back as his crown before hammering in, whispering, “I can feel you tightening. You’re going to come.”

I wasn’t sure I could even form a sentence at this point—I was so far gone. But I knew I wanted that for him too. I wanted to not only feel that side of him, but I wanted to see it. To know what vulnerability looked like on Beck.

I turned my face, my cheek pressed against his lips. “Come with me. Please.”

“You want that already?”

“We have all night and two more evenings together … don’t we?”

“We do.” He lunged his hips up. “And I’m going to have endless amounts of this pussy.”

“Mmm.”

“And I’m going to make this cunt”—he tapped my clit—“come so many fucking times.”

I sucked in some air. “Beck!”

I was there.

At the top.

My toes threatening to slip over the edge while I waited for him to catch up.

And he did; because even though I was frozen and couldn’t move or I’d lose it, he took over the control, and every sign told me he was close. His drives were deep, sharp, his breathing matching mine as he growled, “Jolie!”

That was when I knew he was as far gone as me.

“Beck!”

I immediately began to fall.

My body exploded with shudders; my stomach convulsed. My exhales were coming out in pants, my voice turned scratchy as I yelled, “Ah!”

“Take it! Fucking take it, Jolie!”

I wasn’t the only one losing it; he was too. I could feel the tremors racking his body, the quakes that were blasting through him the same way they were igniting through me.

“Fuck yes! Fuck!”

Our orgasms reached the end at the same time, and even though our breaths were coming out heavy, our sounds were turning light. Beck’s movements gradually slowed and softened until he turned still.

He leaned back into the lounger and brought me with him, my body rising and falling every time he inhaled and exhaled. I stared at the dark screen of the TV that hung on the wall across from us, my brain a busy intersection of what had just happened and what the future of the next couple of days would look like.

I didn’t know how, but I already had a feeling our goodbye would hurt more than I was ready for.

“Take a shower with me,” he said after what felt like minutes of silence.

A shower.

With Beck Weston.

Who was still inside me.

A sexy combination of muscle and warmth and thick chestnut-brown hair—all things I felt as he lay under me.